


Hey, Little Sister

by saidthemagpie



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Blood Drinking, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Slash, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saidthemagpie/pseuds/saidthemagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conrad's relationship with Doc Worth is unpleasant, but simple. Meeting Worth's attractive, intelligent younger sister Laura---a model on her way through town to another gig---complicates things for everyone. </p>
<p>Contains: an OC based on the description of a (nameless) character who never actually became canon, brief Conrad/Laura, jealousy-fueled violent Conrad/Worth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, Little Sister

It was a little past midnight when Conrad found himself standing on Worth’s doorstep ( _again, third time this week, is he getting hungrier? this isn’t going to work_ ), hands in his pockets, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Definitely not desperate. Totally composed.   
  
He jumped when Worth opened the door. The “doctor” sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes, but there was a glint in them, and that Cheshire grin started to creep back onto his face as he stood aside to let the vampire pass.   
  
“I s’pose I shoulda known you’d come creepin’ back here fer more. You drink like a fuckin’ priss, you know that? Half a pint at a go ain’t gonna hold ya, not once you start cravin’ it. Sooner or later yer gonna hafta man up and bite somebody to get yer fill. I can’t keep playin’ wetnurse, I got patients who need this shit.”  
  
Conrad snorted and shoved past Worth into the dingy front office. “Who in their right mind takes a blood transfusion from a back-alley ripper? I’ve never seen anyone here---“ and at this he looked around suspiciously, as if someone or something might creep out from behind a file cabinet.   
  
“Nobody said nothin’ about right minds. But I provide a service and I aim to keep my doors open.” Worth took a long drag of his ever-present cigarette, and then fixed Conrad with a surprisingly penetrating stare. “Face it, you don’t really want to know what goes on in here, you just want dinner. Could care less where it comes from, as long as you don’t have to do the dirty work. Well I’m game, princess, I’m a generous sort.” He grinned again and turned away towards the freezer where he kept the bags.   
  
Conrad felt his face flush (at least, as much as he could given his current relatively bloodless state.) They’d been at this for weeks now, with increasing frequency as Conrad found his body adjusting to its undeath. No visit was complete without some sort of verbal abuse, and he found himself wondering why he didn’t just stock up on blood bags and save himself at least some of the grief. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the answer had to do with how lonely he’d become, how isolated since his “accident,” but the subject was still a little too sore to really pick at and so he told himself (and Worth, and anyone else who brought it up) it was because he preferred the blood fresh.   
  
There was certainly nothing appealing about Worth’s company. The man was positively vulgar, and maybe even a little bit sinister. The only explanation Conrad could come up with for the fact that his mind was occasionally ( _all right, he’d be honest with himself here, somewhat frequently_ ) fixated on Worth was the maddening cloud of mysteries that seemed to surround him. He really did wonder about what went on in Worth’s office, about where the blood came from and who else besides himself might need it…he was just simply too terrified to ask. Then there were the mysteries of the man himself---his seemingly continuous head injuries, the dark circles under his eyes, and hadn’t Conrad gotten a glimpse of bandages once along the Doc’s slender arm as he slipped on that awful coat?   
  
He was startled out of his thoughts by the impact of the frozen bag hitting his chest, and he fumbled helplessly to catch it while letting out a low hissing stream of curses. Finally he had the thing in his hands, and he looked up to see Worth smirking at him infuriatingly, the fucking bastard, a slight tilt in his hips as he leaned with one hand on his desk, head cocked to the side arrogantly, revealing a flash of pale throat amidst the fur collar of his---wait, what the fuck? Did he really just look Worth up and down? Conrad shook his head to rid himself of the image of Worth’s neck, and spat a few more curses at the man for good measure.   
  
“Save it,” Worth spat back. “Yer havin’ it to go. I’ve got company coming an’ I don’t want you hangin’ around here like some lost puppy.”   
  
“Company?” Conrad raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you have _friends_?”  
  
“Fam’ly, not like it’s any of yer fuckin’ business. Now come on, scram, I’ll even throw in another bag for dessert, if you jus---“  
  
“F-family? Are you joking?” Conrad sputtered, his face a mixture of complete incredulity and sheer horror. Worth looked like he was about to start making threats, and Conrad actually took a step backwards, when suddenly they both heard the click of the handle and the door to Worth’s office swung open.   
  
Conrad silently thanked heaven that he had brought his messenger bag, and quickly turned away from the door to stow the blood packet. When he turned back, the woman in front of him positively made his jaw drop.   
  
She stood in the doorway, long legs in tight designer jeans, a simple black top revealing every curve of her torso, shoulders and neck draped with one of those trendy Italian silk scarves, and her face…He knew her. He knew those dark eyes, strong high cheekbones, delicately pouting lips, even her close-cropped blond hair. Where had he seen her? He was sure he would remember someone so striking, he couldn’t possibly have met her before, and yet…  
  
He managed to pry his eyes off the newcomer to glance at Worth, and did a doubletake. Holy motherfucking shit. This was not possible.   
  
“Guh. Hngh. Buh---I---wha---“ Conrad’s throat had closed up and his tongue seemed to be refusing whatever garbled messages his reeling mind was trying to send it. Worth was looking at him the way one might regard a particularly nasty piece of roadkill.  
  
“Conrad, this is Laura. My sister,” Worth muttered angrily. He turned to face the woman, who was smiling. “Laura,” and he gestured apathetically in the vampire’s direction, “Conrad.  _He was just leaving_.” Worth shot Conrad a dirty look.  
  
“My pleasure.” Laura turned her smile to him, and Conrad was startled to realize that he could detect no trace of sarcasm in her voice. Her resemblance to Worth was incredibly unnerving, but everything else about her seemed…well…normal. Friendly. Conrad blinked, still unable to form words.   
  
Finally, he managed a meek “H-how do you do?”  
  
“I’m wonderful, thank you. It’s so nice to meet a friend of my brother’s,” she responded, and wait a moment, maybe there was a trace of an edge there, but it seemed to be directed at Worth. She crossed the room in a few elegant strides and planted a kiss on Worth’s unshaven cheek. “How  _do_  you manage to stay so unbelievably scruffy when you keep such stylish company?” She regarded him fondly, and Conrad could almost swear that the doctor was blushing.   
  
“You take care of the modelin’, love, and you let me take care of the sewin’ people back together, eh?” Worth grumbled, but there was a softness in his eyes that Conrad had never seen before. Wait---modeling? Worth’s sister was a model? Could this night possibly get any stranger?   
  
Suddenly, Laura was looking at him again, and Conrad felt himself freeze up like a deer who’d chosen a very bad moment to cross the road. She moved towards him, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “And you, Conrad, what do you do?”  
  
He gingerly placed his hand in hers and gave a small yelp at the strength with which she shook it. “I, well, I, ah…you see…” he stammered.  
  
“Oh, can’t you tell?” Worth drawled. “He’s an  _artiste_.” Laura’s eyes widened, and she grinned from ear to ear.  
  
“Really? You’re not a photographer, are you? Because I’m looking for a new photographer, and I---“  
  
“G-graphic designer,” he managed, and winced. God, this was a disaster. He had never been able to talk to women, and certainly not women who looked like Laura. He found himself eyeing the door, hoping for some means of escape. And yet…Laura was the first person in what felt like ages who seemed actually interested in Conrad’s life. Well, unlife, but if she had noticed anything odd about him she didn’t let on.   
  
“Ooh!” Laura gasped. “Fantastic! I bet you do brilliant work. Say, you must know the art scene in this city pretty well, yeah? Do you think you’d be able to recommend me a name or two? I need to get some new headshots done while I’m in town. We could get coffee.”   
  
Conrad glanced at Worth, who was staring at them as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The vampire felt himself start to smile, and after a moment’s hesitation allowed it to spread across his face in a way that might well have won him several marks on Hanna’s tally sheet. “That sounds lovely,” he said, finally regaining composure. 

A few minutes later, Conrad was out the door, Laura’s card in his pocket and the image of Worth’s incredulous face fixed in his mind. 

  
\+ + +  
  
Part of him had been terrified that this was some sort of joke, that when he dialed the number on the card the woman on the other end would laugh at him and he’d be able to hear Worth in the background snickering. But Laura’s voice was bright and cheerful, and he didn’t have any trouble getting her to agree to meet him somewhere after dark---they settled on the café Conrad frequented when he was working. He did actually have a few names for her, not that any of them were people he could call friends, but as far as he knew they were decent photographers. The little slip of paper he had written them down on served as a protective talisman, lessening his anxiety about the upcoming meeting. It was professional. He was just helping her out. It was definitely not a date. Right?   
  
Now, sitting across from her at one of the tiny little tables in the café, having already handed off the talisman (shit), he was forced to come to terms with the fact that this was becoming increasingly date-like. She was asking him all sorts of questions, about himself, about his work, and what was worse, he was actually _answering_  them. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been this open. Had he really just told her about that damned tattoo? How had that even come up? There was something about her, the way she laughed, the intensity with which she looked at him when she was talking…he was relaxing, he was enjoying being with her, and it was seriously freaking him the fuck out.   
  
He looked down at his espresso and wondered whether or not he should try to stomach another sip (he had only managed two so far but again, if Laura had noticed, she was being incredibly polite about it). He looked up at her again and felt something inside him twist. She had leaned back in her chair and was stretching languorously like a cat, still smiling at him, and for a moment every bit of her was Worth. Conrad could not possibly begin to untangle the mess of how that made him feel. He smiled weakly at her, and they kept talking, and all the while Conrad struggled to rid his mind of someone else.   
  
Finally they were being asked (at first politely and then, twenty minutes later, more sternly) to leave, the café was closing up. How had it gotten this late? As they stepped out into the dark, Laura slipped her arm into Conrad’s, a movement so swift and natural that it took the man a moment to realize it had even happened.   
  
“Hey! I’ve a got an idea. I would really, really love to see some of that design work you’ve been up to.” She was grinning at him. His stomach did backflips. He felt himself nodding automatically, as if under some kind of spell.   
  
“Sure, of course, w-whatever you like,” he choked, and led the way.   
  
Laura only let go of his arm when they reached the door to his apartment, and even as she stepped back to watch him turn the key in the lock, Conrad could feel her eyes on him. What on earth was he doing? He fumbled the key a little, took an unnecessary breath to steady himself, and managed to get the door open.  
  
Laura “ooh”ed and “ahhh”d appreciatively at the décor (something that genuinely startled him, he had become so used to being criticized for his aesthetics). He smiled sheepishly and answered her questions about where this or that print or decorative lamp had come from. Then they were settling in on the couch with his laptop, and fuck, he was showing her his portfolio. This was insane.   
  
And they were talking, and laughing, and he was showing her some old work---really old work---from Ringling, and then suddenly the laptop was closed. Conrad looked at it confusedly. Laura’s hand was resting on top. His eyes made the slow trek up her slender arm, past her shoulder (he had to blink when it came to her neck, he couldn’t stop himself), to the smirk (ohgodohgodohgod) on her face and the mischievous look in her eyes. He watched, paralyzed, as she calmly picked the computer out of his lap and set it down on his fancy little minimalist coffee table. Oh, shit.   
  
And then she was kissing him. Hard. And somehow she had vaulted into his lap and was straddling his narrow waist, pushing him up against the back of the sofa, hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Panicking, he raised his arms, his own hands clawing defensively at the air on either side of her, too stunned to actually attempt to touch her. Her tongue was warm and insistent in his mouth and he realized he was squeezing his eyes shut so hard he was seeing stars.   
  
After a moment she broke away, sat back and looked at him quizzically. “What’s wrong?” she murmured. Conrad opened his eyes, and the sight of Laura’s face, her impossible resemblance to the man who had been plaguing his thoughts, was almost too much to bear. He watched as her eyes registered the pained expression he was making. “Did I---“ she started, and then tilted her head slightly to the side. “Oh,” she breathed, and some sort of recognition dawned on her face. “Oh. I’m sorry, oh fuck,” and her mouth was turning up in a small half-smile and Conrad wanted to die, again, for real, for good.   
  
“What---I---no, I’m sorry, I---“ he stammered, looking away, but she was already standing up, looking at him with what seemed like a mixture of compassion and wistfulness.   
  
“It’s okay,” she said, and shook her head. “I really should have…I’m sorry. I should go. Thank you so much for tonight, I had a lovely time, I really did.”  
  
Conrad pushed himself to his feet and caught her arm as she turned for the door. “It’s, oh fucking hell, it’s not what you think, it’s not you, you’re…you’re…” and he’d lost the ability to speak again, god fucking damn it.  
  
“I know,” she said, meeting his eyes, and smiled. “It’s okay. Goodnight, Conrad.” She leaned in and gave him a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek, and then she turned and walked out of the apartment.  
  
Conrad stood there, blinking, for several minutes, before slowly turning around and collapsing back onto the sofa, head in his hands.   
  
\+ + +  
  
Two hours later, and Conrad hadn’t moved from the sofa. He’d gone over everything in his head, the whole night with her…every word exchanged, all the minute actions and reactions, the way she walked so close to him and the taste of her mouth and the look in her eyes when she said “I know,” and what the fuck was that about? She knew what?   
  
That he hadn’t wanted what she’d wanted? Why the hell hadn’t he? She was gorgeous. And she’d managed what he had begun to think was impossible---she’d made him relax, almost. And she’d wanted him! Conrad highly doubted that this trifecta could occur more than once in his (un)life. But the real kicker, the thing that was keeping him rooted to the (mental and physical) spot, was that he hadn’t even had the chance to actually turn her down. Laura had read him like a book, and closed the cover. She knew. She fucking knew.  
  
That he couldn’t look at her without seeing Worth? That he couldn’t touch her without feeling---no. No, no, no. Conrad was putting a stop to this shit right now. There was no way in hell that he---  
  
Someone was knocking at the door. Conrad felt his heart leap into his throat. Had Laura come back? Maybe it was Hanna, or Toni, or even Veser, anyone but---  
  
“Open the goddamn door, I know yer in there, where the fuck…” the voice trailed off into a low slurred growling. Conrad seriously thought he might faint. This was not happening.   
  
Stiffly, he rose from the couch, trying to will himself to remain calm. The knocking came again, louder. Conrad managed to make it to the door and reached for the handle, hands shaking uncontrollably. He closed his eyes and counted to three, then opened the door, wondering what on earth he had done to deserve this night.   
  
Worth looked positively terrifying, standing there in the hallway with a slightly crazed look in his eyes, a scowl etching itself deep into his brow. “Where is she,” he breathed, low and threatening, not really a question so much as a statement of intent.  
  
“L-Laura?” Conrad gulped, eyes wide in horror.   
  
“Of fuckin’ course Laura, why in the fuck do you think I would come all the way here at this godforsaken hour and so help me Christ if she’s here and you---“ and Worth pushed past Conrad, looking wildly around the small apartment as if his sister might be hiding somewhere, and Conrad could smell alcohol on him, and something else. That smell was familiar and he tried very hard not to think about it.   
  
“She…she was here, but she left, and I…are you drunk?” Conrad felt fear giving way to anger and he let it happen, it was comfortable, it was normal and he needed normal so desperately now. “How did you know where I live?”  
  
Worth snorted, standing in the middle of Conrad’s living room and still glancing around suspiciously. “Hanna gave me yer address. Shocked the hell out of him as you can prob’ly imagine. Tell me where Laura is an’ I’ll leave, more’n happy to get the fuck out of yer queer little den, what the fuck is all this shit---“  
  
“Were you listening to me? I said she left! She left hours ago, I don’t know where she is, I’m sure she’s not coming back here so you might as well get---“  
  
“But she was here? You brought her here?” Worth stared intently at him, something in his eyes forcing Conrad to look away. “Why? She told me you were gettin’ coffee, said she’d be back b’fore eleven. Do you know what fuckin’ time it is now?”  
  
”I think Laura can take care of herself,” Conrad scowled. “It was her idea to come back here, we weren’t thinking about the time, we just---“  
  
“You just what?” Worth hissed, and crossed the space between them so quickly it made Conrad jump. He was standing inches away from him now, hands clenched into fists, eyes daring Conrad to back away.  
  
That smell, the smell was overpowering now and the vampire felt his mouth start to water. “Are…are you bleeding, Worth?” It was barely more than a whisper.  
  
“Don’t change the fuckin’ subject!” Worth snapped back, grabbing Conrad by the lapel of his shirt and yanking him forward. “I swear if you touched ‘er, if you touched my sister you’ll wish Hanna had left you there on that rooftop to rot.”   
  
Conrad’s rage was building, hot and tight in his chest, and he let it course through him, giving him enough strength to wrench Worth’s hand violently away. “Don’t. Touch. Me,” he heard himself growl. “It’s none of your fucking business, why the hell do you care what she does, why would you care what I do? Get the fuck out of my apartment!”  
  
Worth looked mildly startled, as if he hadn’t expected Conrad to put up much of a fight. Conrad wondered if he’d forgotten their brawl in the office, the first time they’d met, when the vampire had almost broken the man’s nose. He was aching for it now, for his fist to connect with Worth’s face, to touch him and have it mean only violence and pain. Simple. Easy to understand.   
  
But remembering that fight meant remembering what had happened after, the blood on his hand, the taste of it. And he could almost taste it here, Worth must have injured himself somehow, the smell was so strong and it was fuel to that part of Conrad that was now a predator, the part he was spending so much time and energy denying. It made him angrier. Why the fuck had Worth come here? Everything Worth did seemed designed to drive Conrad insane, to get up under his skin and torture him with this infuriating mixture of fascination and loathing. He was teetering dangerously on the edge of losing control, and it seemed that Worth could see it---his expression had changed from one of shock to a familiar sneer.   
  
“I shoulda known,” he said softly, quietly. “Shoulda known she wouldn’ fancy somethin’ like you. Yer nothin’ but a prissy, bloodless little faggot. I bet you couldn’---”  
  
He was cut short by the impact of Conrad’s fist connecting with his face, and then he was falling backwards as the vampire wrapped both hands around his throat, inhuman strength bearing down on him until he was flat on his back in the middle of the floor, choking and gasping for air as he clawed at Conrad’s arms and wrists. Worth thrashed and bucked but Conrad had him pinned, blinded by rage and seemingly indifferent to Worth’s nails on his pale skin.   
  
Finally, Worth managed to bring his knee up, sharp and fast, directly in between Conrad’s legs. The vampire gave a pained yelp and rolled away, clutching himself and biting down hard on his lower lip with that damned useless fang. Then Worth was on top of him, and a quick blow to his jaw left him reeling.   
  
“Is that all you got?” Worth gasped, rubbing his face with the back of one hand and pressing Conrad’s head down against the hard wood floor with the other. “You fight like a goddamn fairy.”   
  
“Get OFF of me you motherfucking son of a bitch,” Conrad howled, writhing and twisting and clawing.   
  
Worth was glaring down at him, breathing hard, blood on his face. “All I need to know,” he growled, managing to pin Conrad’s wrists, “is that nothin’ happened, you didn’ even touch her. Tell me the goddamn truth.”  
  
Conrad struggled against him, his mind in a frenzy, anger coursing through him. For such a lean, frail looking man Worth was surprisingly strong. “What’re you afraid of?” he shouted, all of his rage channeled into his voice, the only weapon he had left. “Why are you here? What if I touched her? What the fuck do you think you could do about it? You can’t kill me, you bloody fucking idiot, I’m already dead!” He was screaming now, oblivious to anyone who might hear them.  
  
There was a pain in Worth’s eyes that Conrad didn’t quite understand. “Fuck you,” he spat back.  
  
“WELL I WISH YOU BLOODY WOULD INSTEAD OF JUST---“ and Conrad managed to stop himself, realized what the fuck he had just said. The silence that followed was deafening. The look of utter shock on Worth’s face might have been a victory if not for the sick feeling at the bottom of Conrad’s stomach, the feeling that the floor had just dropped out from under them.   
  
“What?” Worth breathed incredulously, tilting his head to the side. “What did you just say to me?”  
  
“N-no, I didn’t mean, I wasn’t---“ Conrad sputtered, starting to struggle again, but Worth still had him pinned fast. The vampire was suddenly painfully aware of how close the other man’s body was, the warmth of him, the smell of blood on him. He realized he could hear Worth’s heartbeat speed up.   
  
Was Worth smiling? What the fuck?   
  
Worth bent down, slowly, until his mouth was inches from Conrad’s ear, and Conrad could feel his breath, warm air on cold skin. “Say it again,” he whispered, low, barely audible.   
  
“W-what, no, what the fuck, I---“ Conrad started, but the other man had lowered his hips as well, until he felt Worth brush against him, grinding into him slowly and deliberately. Conrad’s eyes rolled back a little and he shuddered, tried to turn his head away but now Worth had released one of his wrists and was using that hand on his jaw to pull him back roughly.   
  
“Look at me,” Worth barked. “Look at me and say it again.”  
  
Conrad winced. “I can’t. I can’t,” he choked quietly, unable to meet Worth’s gaze.   
  
“Oh yes you can,” Worth smiled, and rolled his hips against Conrad’s, causing the vampire to let out a low moan. Conrad brought his free hand up to Worth’s chest, clutching at the man’s shirt, unsure of whether he was trying to push him away or draw him closer.   
  
Conrad’s lips were slightly parted, his one fang visible, and Worth shifted the hand with which he was gripping Conrad’s face in order to prick his thumb against its tip. A drop of blood fell onto the vampire’s tongue, causing a jolt of sensation throughout his entire body. That taste…god, it was unbelievable. Worth slid the wounded finger into Conrad’s mouth, and he couldn’t help himself, he sucked at it desperately, clutching harder at Worth’s shirt. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, he needed Worth’s blood and he needed it now, god damn it. He realized that Worth had released his other wrist and he used the hand to prop himself up, pushing the other man back into a sitting position, still straddling Conrad’s waist. He let go of Worth’s finger and pushed the hand aside---there was fresh blood on Worth’s face from the punch and he leaned in close to lick it away from the corner of Worth’s mouth.  
Worth pushed him back, and Conrad heard himself whine softly, needily. “Ah ah, too easy,” Worth scolded. “You want that, you hafta work for it.” And Worth was slipping off his coat.  
  
Conrad saw now what had been distracting him earlier. Worth’s arms were indeed covered in bandages, tinged in red---whatever lay beneath them was fairly fresh, and had been giving off that maddening scent of blood. In any other context Conrad might have questioned Worth about the cuts, but at present, explanations could be saved for later. Worth had already slipped off his t-shirt and was ripping at Conrad’s button-down, causing buttons to pop off and scatter across the floor, and again in any other context Conrad would complain but this was so not the time.   
  
He was too fixated on the myriad of scars covering Worth’s lean torso, noticing that one cut (just beneath a rib on Worth’s left side) had been re-opened by the fight and was trickling a thin stream of blood down his stomach. Conrad leaned in again, licking his lips instinctively, and was again rudely shoved back. Okay, this was really starting to piss him off. He glared at Worth vindictively, who had now managed to fully ruin Conrad’s shirt and had it halfway off his shoulders.  
  
“You’ve got teeth, puppy. Still ain’t man enough to use ‘em?” Worth grinned, eyes full of challenge, pupils wide and dark.   
  
By way of response, Conrad wrapped a hand around Worth’s wrist and brought it up to his lips. He hesitated a moment, spellbound by the visible pulse in the vein, and then gently scraped his fang along the skin above it, latching on with his mouth and lapping at the blood as it started to flow freely. He heard Worth’s breathing hitch and felt him stiffen, looked up to see the the glazed expression that had come over his face.   
  
The fresh blood in his mouth was making him giddy and light-headed. He felt almost euphoric, losing himself in the taste and the heat of it, and realized---fuck---he was actually getting hard, this was so fucked up, this was not really happening, what the fuck was he thinking? But it was too late, it was so far past late and he wanted this so badly it hurt. Worth groaned and thrust against him, his other hand finding the back of Conrad’s head and his fingers knotting into dark hair. Then he was pulling Conrad’s head back, reclaiming his wounded wrist and replacing it with his mouth.  
  
Conrad was startled by the intimacy of their lips pressed together, the urgency with which Worth’s tongue found his own, but there was blood in Worth’s mouth and any hesitation on the part of the vampire was fleeting. He felt Worth’s hand on his chest pushing him back down, felt it trail down his skin until it reached his belt and began to tug, freeing the buckle and working open the fly of his pants. The hand slipped effortlessly down the front of Conrad’s boxers and then gripped him, hard, around the base of the shaft of his cock.   
  
Conrad broke away from the kiss to gasp, head thrust back, and heard Worth snicker into the curve of his shoulder. Worth’s hand slid upwards along him, impossibly slowly, until his thumb came to rest on the tip of the head, and Conrad clawed at Worth’s back---“fuck, oh fuck, nnngghh”---and back down again. Worth was stroking him now, roughly and steadily, and Conrad moaned and arched his back, pushing his hips up into Worth’s, pressing himself and Worth’s hand against Worth’s own erection through his pants.   
  
“Hnnnhh, steady now,” Worth grinned wickedly. “This what you were after, eh?”  
  
Ugh, fuck, that patronizing tone was really unnecessary but this was so good, this was everything he had no fucking idea he’d wanted, and it made him sick but oh god…Conrad dug his fingernails into Worth’s back and wrenched himself upwards, enough to have a good enough angle, and he sunk his teeth into Worth’s shoulder.   
  
Worth’s eyes went wide, he gasped and then moaned as Conrad started to suck at the bite, tightened his grip on the vampire’s cock. Conrad felt Worth’s weight sink into him, and realized that Worth was now using his other hand to undo his own belt, tugging his own cock free and beginning to stroke himself and the other in time. And Worth was panting into Conrad’s collarbone, “unnnhh, uhh, f-fuck, yesss,” and there was so much blood now, hot and incredibly sweet, and Conrad bit down again harder to feel the way Worth’s body shuddered and twisted against his own, Worth’s hands spasming reflexively and then speeding up.  
  
Conrad was choking down the blood between gasps and moans now, the taste of it filling him near to bursting and the feeling of Worth’s hand on him, Worth’s body grinding against his, he knew he was going to come and that Worth couldn’t be far off either from the sounds he was making and, yes, the taste in his mouth, he could taste it. And he spared a moment to wonder what the fuck this would mean, what would change between them, wondered if the others would be able to tell. He pulled back from Worth’s shoulder and turned his head to look at his face, Worth’s eyes shut tight, brow furrowed, saw that he was biting his lip.  
  
Conrad’s gaze drifted to Worth’s neck, stretched out long and bare and so goddamn close, so fucking inviting, and he brushed his lips against it and then his tongue, feeling Worth’s chest heave and hearing him whine. Was he going to beg for it? Could Conrad actually make this man plead? He forced himself to stop, to wait, listening to the sound of Worth’s pounding heart, and then---“fuck, come on, d-do it, goddamn---“ and that was good enough. The vampire scraped his fang against the man’s neck with a surprising amount of restraint, but that was it, Worth was coming, cries muffled by Conrad’s shoulder, hips thrusting down into him, and Conrad latched on and sucked at Worth’s neck in earnest.   
  
Worth crumpled, body racked with shivers of pleasure as the orgasm dwindled, and Conrad let the taste of it and the pressure of Worth’s hand still on him push him over the edge, tipped his head back and clenched his teeth to try to keep himself from crying out, but a long “ohhhhhhh” escaped him. And then it was over, and he was still clutching Worth to him, swallowing desperately at the last traces of blood in his mouth, body going limp. And after a moment Worth was rolling off of him onto his back, laughing softly, a low rasping sound that brought Conrad back to his senses.  
  
Conrad lay there on the floor of his living room, eyes fixed on the ceiling, refusing to look at the man next to him. Neither said anything for what seemed like an age. Finally it was the vampire who broke the silence.  
  
“She kissed me,” he muttered quietly, turning to look at Worth, who had closed his eyes but now opened them and raised an eyebrow in an expression of real confusion.   
  
“What?”   
  
“Laura. She…she kissed me, but I didn’t…and then she left, she said it was okay, she said she knew but I don’t know what she meant and I’m sorry and---“ but Worth was laughing, really laughing at him now and Conrad felt the familiar anger rising again in his chest, and it felt like nothing so much as relief.


End file.
